


a hui hou

by idolrapper



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Bad Flirting, M/M, Sexual Content, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 08:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13477290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idolrapper/pseuds/idolrapper
Summary: He’s known Junhui a total of thirty minutes before he ends up like this: face-down in the hot sand on a beach in Maui, feet strapped to a surfboard, Junhui laughing above him.





	a hui hou

**Author's Note:**

> ao3 user wonwoo returning with a wonwoo fic? it’s more likely thank you think.

Wonwoo has known Junhui a total of twenty-four hours before he ends up like this: bent over, the boardshorts Junhui had bought him bunched around his knees, chin scraping against the smooth surface of Junhui’s surfboard with every thrust.

He’s known Junhui a total of thirty minutes before he ends up like this: face-down in the hot sand on a beach in Maui, feet strapped to a surfboard, Junhui laughing above him.

“You’re scamming me,” Wonwoo mutters, pushing himself up. His skin feels like it’s peeling already, red and tender to touch, and Junhui pokes him in the back relentlessly until he stands up and shoves him away. Wonwoo hates him, his lean figure, the seawater and sunlight through his hair, standing there like someone had carved him out of bronze, and what Wonwoo hates most of all is that he doesn’t even realise it.

Junhui grabs Wonwoo’s wrist as he turns away to leave, stomp up the beach back to his hut where it’s cool and dry and he can read _Eat Pray Love_ in peace. He’d only gotten to page eleven before he was ambushed by ‘The Island’s Best Surfer, Junhui Wen’ (“They call me Seafoam,” Junhui had said, Wonwoo squinting up at him through his sunglasses. “Because I’m one with the sea.” His mouth was moving but Wonwoo wasn’t listening, eyes travelling over Junhui’s body eighty times over. Ergo he’d blurted out, “YES!” when Junhui asked him a question, bottom lip sticking out expectantly. A question that led him closer to the water than he ever wanted to be on this trip.) “I’m not scamming you, I even paid for your swimsuit,” Junhui argues. 

“I’ll think of you whenever I wear it,” Wonwoo says, patting Junhui’s cheek. _So, never again_ , he doesn’t add. He’d come to Hawaii without packing a swimsuit for a reason. He doesn’t like the ocean and the ocean doesn’t like him. 

(“Why’d you come here, then?” Junhui had asked in the tourist shop he dragged Wonwoo into. Wonwoo was perusing through a rack of shorts, picking out one with a black and red tropical print, and holding it against his thighs. It made him look even paler than he already is. He tossed it at Junhui’s chest.

Wonwoo had shrugged. “Graduated two weeks ago. Came with a friend before I start an internship in San Francisco.”

“And their dying wish was to come to Hawaii?”

Wonwoo thought about the list he’d presented to Soonyoung, crumpled in the back of his diary, a line crossed through every city he’d wanted to go to. “Pretty much.”

Junhui took out his wallet, walking to the counter, the shorts folded over his arm. “You’ll find something worthwhile here,” he’d said, “Trust me.”)

Wonwoo is already nearing the dunes when Junhui yells out, “Do you want to get something to eat?” He pauses, listening to Junhui run after him, kicking up sand as he goes.

“Are you paying?” he asks, not turning around. His mind has already wandered away, turned on the shower in the place he’s sharing with Soonyoung and is standing under the cold spray, waiting for his body to catch up.

“Who’s scamming who again?” 

Wonwoo twists back, smiling at Junhui. “Meet me here in half an hour. I don’t like seafood.” He throws up the ‘OK?’ gesture and Junhui’s hand timidly rises to mirror it.

 

 

“You don’t like seafood?” is the first thing Junhui says to him when Wonwoo turns up to the beach at eight thirty sharp, clean and smelling of the blueberry soap Soonyoung had bought in a travel set. He clearly hadn’t moved, lounging on the dunes like a cat soaking up the sun, and when he stands up to take Wonwoo’s hand, his butt is imprinted in the sand. 

“I have a weak constitution,” Wonwoo replies, shrugging. “Let’s go.” He tugs on Junhui’s hand, hoping that he’ll let go, but Junhui only squeezes harder, tripping after Wonwoo. 

His face smashes into the back of Wonwoo’s neck. He mumbles, “You smell nice,” and Wonwoo’s glad Junhui is behind him so he doesn’t see the expression he just pulled. 

“Is that what you say to all your victims?” 

“‘M not a scammer,” Junhui says, falling into step with Wonwoo. “Just a guy who loves surfing and wants to share it with the world.”

“Well, I’m just a guy who is hungry and has no idea where I’m taking us so,” Wonwoo holds up their linked hands, “would you mind?”

“You’re going to _love_ Rosa’s,” Junhui says. 

“No—”

“No seafood, I promise.”

“Okay, but for the record I’m only coming with you because I don’t know where the fuck Soonyoung is and he’s been feeding me cocktails and packets of ramen from his suitcase since we got here,” Wonwoo informs Junhui. He narrows his eyes at the sun, though low on the horizon, its light is still intense now that he’s taken out his lenses and can’t wear his sunglasses. It’s nearing golden hour and the street is suddenly full of couples. They blend right in. 

Junhui grimaces. “You’re awful.”

“I try,” Wonwoo says, turning to beam at Junhui. “Where’s this restaurant?”

 

 

They’re sitting cross-legged at a low wooden table, hibiscus flowers carved into its legs, and Junhui is slurping down as much spaghetti as he can fit into his mouth (which, admittedly, is a lot). The last string disappears into his mouth, and he dabs at his mouth with a napkin, face tilting back down to grin at Wonwoo. “See, told you I have no gag reflex,” Junhui says. 

“I believed you the first time you said it,” Wonwoo says, pushing his glasses up his nose, the heat making them slide down every ten seconds. God, he hates it here. But Rosa’s spaghetti _is_ good, and Rosa herself is lovely. She’d given Junhui a warm hug and gave them a bottle of champagne for their date (“Not a—” Wonwoo had started to say, before Junhui slapped a hand over his mouth, hissing _free alcohol, idiot_.) “You didn’t have to be a beast.”

Junhui leans forward, a chin on his fist. “Would you like to be my beauty?” 

Wonwoo edges in as far as he can, the side of the table digging into his stomach, and bats his eyelashes. Junhui doesn’t pull back but he looks like he wants to, ears going incredibly red. “Why of _course_ , Junhui. Pour me a glass of bubbly, will you?”

 

 

Three glasses of champagne later:

“Why are you even hanging out with me?” Junhui asks, his index finger tracing the patterns of ocean waves on Wonwoo’s arm. 

“Why are you hanging out with _me_?” Wonwoo retorts. He’s laying on his other arm, neck twisted so he can look up at Junhui, memorising the way his Adam’s apple moves. He wants to take a bite of it. 

“Think you’re cute,” Junhui says. 

“Well, that’s _my_ answer.” Wonwoo frowns. “You’re not allowed to steal. That’s bad.” 

“I think you’re pretty?”

“No.”

“I want to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

 

 

Three glasses of champagne, two Sex on the Beach’s and a tequila shot later: 

“Holy shit, Junhui, ffffuck, I’m never leaving Hawaii,” Wonwoo slurs, fingers curled around Junhui’s shoulders as Junhui sucks his collarbone. He can feel the muscles moving beneath his skin and he wants to get his mouth on them, but for now he’s content with this. _More_ than content. 

“You’re weirdly mouthy,” Junhui mumbles, hoisting Wonwoo back up the wall. They’re in his and Soonyoung’s hut, right in the hallway. Junhui’s shirt has been thrown somewhere, and Wonwoo’s is bunched up around his chest, Junhui moving a hand down over Wonwoo’s stomach to get at the zipper of his denim shorts. He pauses, frowning, still palming Wonwoo through the fabric with an absent-mindedness that makes Wonwoo snort. “Will you really stay?” says Junhui.

Wonwoo drags his tongue up Junhui’s throat, feeling his pulse thrum. “Mmm, maybe if you get a hand around my cock in the next twenty seconds I’ll consider it,” he says, nose nuzzling into Junhui’s chin. “But,” he straightens up and presses their foreheads together. Junhui’s eyes are so clear, like shards of amber glass, and Wonwoo can feel them pricking him. “Don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

“Can’t live without hope,” Junhui murmurs, as the teeth of Wonwoo’s zipper separate one by one, and—

“Neonuuuuu, I’m home, I brought you a tub of Ben and—oh my _God_.”

“Never heard of that brand,” Wonwoo deadpans, dropping his feet to the ground, palms on Junhui’s chest. “Hi, Soonyoung. This is Junhui. Junhui, Soonyoung.”

“Hi,” Junhui says, with a curt wave.

Soonyoung turns to Wonwoo, slumping against the front door. “You asshole, you never even leave the house and you manage to get laid? How is that fair?” he complains. “Nice to meet you, Junhui.”

“We hadn’t gotten to the getting laid part yet, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says, “So if you wouldn’t mind,” he pretends to slice his throat, “Etgay out of erehay.”

“No, no,” Junhui speaks up, stepping away from Wonwoo. Wonwoo frowns. He’d been enjoying getting away with copping a feel of Junhui’s pecs. “I should get going. I’ve got a lesson with this old couple in the morning, total stuffy types. They’d throw a fit if I was late.”

“You’re going?” Wonwoo and Soonyoung burst out at the same time. 

“Yes?” Junhui says, looking between them. “Could you pass my t-shirt, Soonyoung? It’s, uh, underneath your shoe.”

 

 

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Soonyoung says, when Junhui has pulled on his t-shirt and left, giving Wonwoo a stiff hug and a promise of tomorrow. 

“No, I don’t think he does.” Wonwoo sinks into the couch, grabbing the remote. 

“Well,” Soonyoung replies, “Ben and Jerry’s?”

Wonwoo’s head knocks against the back of the couch, and he grins up at Soonyoung. “Please.”

 

 

In the morning, Wonwoo pops a couple Aspirin, brews himself a coffee, and takes the mug and his copy of _Eat Pray Love_ down with him to the beach. The sun today is hidden by the clouds, making everything grey and murky, and it fills Wonwoo with both joy and melancholy. 

(“Up before ten?” Soonyoung raises an eyebrow. “You must really like this guy.”

“How’d you know—”

“I know _you_ , Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says. He reaches over the benchtop to squeeze Wonwoo’s hand. “And hey. I’m glad you’re having a good time here.”)

If Junhui notices Wonwoo watching him over the top of his book, he doesn’t show it. Though Wonwoo is certain the faint blush that has permanently made its home in Junhui’s cheeks is because of him and not the surfing. The couple he’s teaching aren’t old or stuffy, but newlyweds and quite sweet, giving Junhui a generous tip even when he has to cut the lesson short. 

A drop of rain hits Wonwoo’s glasses. A pair of neon orange flip-flops enter his periphery. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you enjoyed my lesson yesterday,” Junhui says. He’s smiling when Wonwoo looks up. It’s déjà vu. “Whaddya say, Wonwoo, up for round two?” 

“You _do_ know better and you know it wasn’t your lesson I enjoyed,” Wonwoo replies, shoving his glasses back on his face when he’s done cleaning them with the hem of his t-shirt. In the distance the waves break with anger, beating their blue waters against the shore. 

“You want to hook up at ten in the morning?” Junhui asks, eyes widening with seriousness.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I meant,” he says, reaching up to tug Junhui’s boardshorts. “Sit with me. I’m bored and Soonyoung’s going bungee jumping today with some guy called Seungcheol. I’d rather die.”

“Seungcheol’s so nice though,” Junhui says, pouting. “Okay, but we should go somewhere else. It’s gonna start pouring any second now.”

Wonwoo leaves his empty mug buried in the sand, and Junhui piggybacks him up the beach, the dark rumble of thunder following them.

 

 

“I don’t know why I haven’t asked this yet but,” Junhui starts to say. His calloused hands are cupped around a green tea. Wonwoo tries not to look at his face too much, eyes trained on the rain spattering against the window of the coffee shop. Maui is pretty like this, and the air smells fresh with sky, not sea. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Wonwoo answers. He takes a sip of his water. Back to real life, back to San Francisco, back to his empty bed in his empty apartment.

Junhui chews on his lip for a moment. Then, “Let’s create a bucket list. Right now. Anything and everything you’d want to do on this island in the next day.”

Wonwoo laughs, shaking his head. “Alright. What would you do?”

“For one,” Junhui says. His gums show when he laughs. Wonwoo wants to run his tongue along them. “I’ve always wanted to kiss in the rain.” And there’s his chance.

 

 

They: kiss, get drenched, dry off under the porch of a florist and kiss some more. Wonwoo steals a red rose and they run all the way to the beach, a packet of dried seaweed in Junhui’s pocket that he feeds to Wonwoo under a wayward umbrella found lodged in the sand, because seaweed reminds Wonwoo of his father. 

They: explore the overflowing tide pools when the rain stops. Wonwoo bends down to pluck a shell from the water, and Junhui has to pull him back before he falls in.

They: fuck in the shed Junhui had hired along with a few other freelance instructors. It’s an old, dusty thing but the ceiling has these glass panels that make Wonwoo feel like he’s flying when he’s spread out, Junhui’s fingers in him, and well, a surfboard isn’t the worst surface he’s had sex on.

There’s a lot of touching, like they can’t get enough of each other, and the only time Junhui’s mouth leaves Wonwoo’s is when he wants to hear Wonwoo moan, breathe Junhui’s name into his throat, and: “I’m moving to San Francisco in October,” Junhui blurts out, his cock sliding into Wonwoo at a snail’s pace. “We should go out.”

Wonwoo pulls a face. It’s both disapproving and _oh my God I am aroused beyond belief_. “Did you decide to move to San Francisco right now? Do I really feel that good?” 

“Yes and no,” Junhui says, with a shrug. His hands curl around Wonwoo’s waist. “No because I’d already been offered a job at a country club. I went to university, you know? I did business. And yes because I think I’d go to the edge of the world for you and I have no more thinking to do.”

Wonwoo scoffs, hiding his cheeks in the crook of his arm. “You’re doing an awful lot of talking and not fucking me, Junhui.”

Junhui gives Wonwoo a lazy grin, and pulls out almost all the way, only to slam back in twice as hard.“Better?”

Wonwoo barely swallows down his gasp. “I shouldn’t be able to form sentences, like _I’m really happy to hear that you’re an educated man who doesn’t just live off the land and scam tourists_ and _we should definitely go out_ and _I think I really like you and I hate it_.”

“Challenge accepted,” Junhui laughs, and his hands tighten around Wonwoo, until he has to let him go.

 

 

Wonwoo has known Junhui for three months, thirteen days and eight hours when Junhui makes the move to San Francisco, turning up at his doorstep with a bouquet of roses and one of those fake shark tooth necklaces like an idiot and saying, “Home is wherever you are, Wonwoo Jeon.”

(“Shut up, you only get to say shit like that after we’ve had a real date,” Wonwoo says, taking the roses from Junhui so he can bury his face in them. He sneezes for nearly five minutes after, and Junhui tells him _bless you_ every time.)

He thinks of Junhui when he washes the saltwater out of those black and red shorts. When Junhui decides the most productive way to text Wonwoo is to text _Soonyoung_ to tell him to tell Wonwoo to check his phone, where twenty selfies in a row or an essay about all the things he’d like to do to Wonwoo when they meet again or the story of how his late parents met while surfing in Oahu will greet him. 

When everyone says he’d come back from vacation glowing, and he says it was Hawaii, but really it was Junhui.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/nohyuck) / [cc](https://curiouscat.me/millennium) ♡


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